


Fixer Upper

by SunOfMidnight



Category: Triple Frontier (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Mechanic!Pope, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 03:44:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21220028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunOfMidnight/pseuds/SunOfMidnight
Summary: Pope owns a mechanic shop and one day this beautiful man stops by to get his car fixed...





	Fixer Upper

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know the first thing about cars, so that's why it's kept pretty vague and basic.  
If you notice mistakes notheless, let me know so I can fix them!

Pope is in the back when he visits for the first time. It’s late in the afternoon and he had just dismissed Fish. The man had a wife and a baby waiting at home for him and it had been a slow day anyway. He still has Redfly around to help should unexpected trouble come up, after all.

Redfly is nowhere to be seen however, when Pope follows the direction the tentative “Hello?” had come from. He’s holding an old dirty rug in his hands, trying to get rid of the oil his hands are covered in, when he rounds the corner and spots the figure standing in the pulled-up garage gate. Daylight is flooding in from behind him, so it takes Pope a few steps closer to get a glance at his face.

He’s young, is Pope’s first thought when grey-blue eyes watch him approach. They sit in a boyish face with a wide mouth framed by stubble, and a straight nose. The creamy-pale tone of his skin hints at an office job with little exposure to sunlight, but the man is otherwise lean with narrow hips and broad shoulders - attractive is what he is.

“Hello, how can I help you?”, Pope greets him and up close like this he can spot the fine lines around his eyes and the corners of his mouth. Young, younger than Pope most certainly, but not as young as his boyish looks make it seem at first.

The man is wearing well-fitting slacks and a blue shirt that’s tucked in orderly. He extends his hand to Pope and says: “My name is Miller, nice to meet you.”

Pope glances at the hand and smiles apologetically, holding up his own oily ones. “Don’t think that’s a good idea, sorry.”

The man blinks confused at Pope’s blackened fingers for a moment, then scratches the back of his neck self-consciously and huffs out an embarrassed laugh. “Of course. Sorry. Long day.”

“No problem at all”, Pope shakes his head, watching the way the sunlight glints in the stranger’s honey-coloured hair, before pulling himself together. This is a potential client after all. “My colleague should’ve been around, sorry for the wait.”

“Not at all”, the man, Miller, assures and drops his hand. “I seem to have, ah, broken my car. Somehow. I don’t really know what’s wrong and you’re the nearest mechanic shop…”

He trails off and glances around the shop. It’s on the smaller side, only five spots for cars are available, out of which three are occupied already. In the moment of silence, cluttering behind Pope announces Redfly’s presence but he doesn’t turn around, just waits for Miller to finish his inspection.

“Would you be able to take a look at it?”, he asks after a few seconds and looks back at Pope. There’s something about him, unsettling and a little thrilling at the same time, that Pope can’t name. It’s not the handsome face – although that doesn’t hurt to be sure – and neither is it his unexpectedly deep voice.

“That’s what we do here”, he replies and gestures around them, earning a small smile. “What did you–?“

“Pope?”, Redfly calls from behind him and when Pope turns around, Redfly steps out of the office with a frown on his face and a wrench in his hands. Then does he spots the customer. “Did you know that – oh, sorry, hello.”

“Good afternoon”, Miller nods politely and glances between Redfly and Pope for a second, probably trying to assess the hierarchy. Redfly never wears the shop’s uniform, which would have bothered Pope if it hadn’t been for how stuffy and uncomfortable Redfly actually looks in it. Pope himself wears it, it’s only a shirt anyways, dark navy with small white print displaying the shop’s name on the back and the employee’s last name on the breast. Tom usually wears chequered shirts instead, looking every bit an actual lumberjack with his beard and build. “Could I maybe steal your colleague, uh, Garcia, for a little while?”

Redfly shrugs and plays with the wrench in his hands as he walks up to them. “I mean, sure. What seems to be the problem?”

“I’m not sure”, Miller replies, lifting his shoulders in apology. “It broke down about two miles from here and you’re the nearest mechanics.”

“Well, we don’t really do out-of-house calls”, Redfly quickly points out. “You’ll have to describe it to us or bring the car here somehow.”

He’s right of course. Pope adopted that policy right from the beginning to avoid additional hassle, and he’s stuck to it ever since. The only exceptions to be made are for employees and their family. The way Miller’s shoulders deflate a fraction at those words does something to Pope’s insides though, and without thinking he blurts out: “We can make an exception, though.”

Redfly stares at Pope but before he can say anything, Pope lays his hand on Redfly’s lower arm. After a moment, Redfly shrugs. “Okay then. Apparently we can.”

“Are you sure?”, Miller asks and furrows his brow into a mildly worried expression, eyes trained on Pope’s hand on Redfly’s arm. “I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

“Nah, s’fine”, Pope assures him and drops his hand to his hip. “Not much going on at the moment, anyway. I got this.”

He throws Redfly a questioning look, but gets only a shrug. Redfly can handle the shop while Pope’s gone for a few minutes. He’s been handling a customer’s car for a while now and it's almost done by now, anyway. 

“Two miles away, you said?”, Pope asks as he waves Miller to follow him. He grabs a canister of petrol on the way – Miller doesn’t seem clueless enough to not recognise his car running on low or even no fuel, but Pope has learned to never assume anything when it comes to handling cars. He stops by the sink and scrubs his hands for a minute to get rid of the worst of their oil-coating.

“Yeah, just out of town.” Miller has no trouble keeping up with Pope, his legs much longer than Pope’s. He rounds the car Pope leads them to and waits for the doors to be unlocked. “This your car?”

Pope stores the canister in the back before taking the drivers seat. “Yeah”, he nods over the firing up engine. “Why? Disappointed?”

“I didn’t really have time to build any expectations to be disappointed, did I?”, Miller replies evenly and signs for Pope to turn left. “It’s…plain. For a mechanic’s car. Since you’re probably a car-enthusiast, I mean.”

Pope chuckles and follows the instructions easily. “I just like fixing things. I’m not really fussed about my own car – as long as it takes me from A to B without breaking down, I’m happy.”

The following silence stretches long enough for him to throw a curious glance at his passenger. Miller is watching him openly, lips parted slightly and eyes intense, as though Pope is a piece of engineering he can’t quite figure out. Pope feels the back of his neck heating and focusses back on the road, clearing his throat.

“So, what do you do, Mr Miller?”, he asks awkwardly, trying for a safe topic. He still cannot figure out what this unsettling but thrilling quality is, that this man emanates.

“I do workshops”, is the answer Pope gets. “I teach firms about teamwork and trust among colleagues. And you can call me Will.”

“What kinds of firms?”, Pope asks after moment of trying to figure out, which piece of information he just got is the least confusing. Will. Short for William probably. Will Miller it is then.

“Any”, Will Miller replies and gestures right on the next crossing. “Somehow teamwork and mutual trust seem to be extremely rare commodities in the work-place.”

“I guess”, Pope hums nodding. They’re leaving town now and the sun is starting to set as they drive by the fields surrounding the small suburb.

“Is it not the same in your line of work?”, Will asks and he sounds genuinely interested in the answer. The dark speck becoming visible in the distance, next to a pale green field, is probably his broken-down car.

“Not really, no”, Pope shakes his head. “But then we’re a very small team and we’ve known each other for ages.”

Will hums thoughtfully next to him and stays quiet for a few seconds. “It’s probably also different, since you’re doing manual labour rather than pushing pencils.”

Pope shrugs. He’s never worked in that kind of field, he doesn’t know the first thing about it. The little 'pencil pushing' he does for the shop is all administrative stuff, which is more than enough in his opinion.

The car is an Audi A3 e-tron in an unassuming olive-green and confirms what Will's clothes alluded to: he's getting paid well. Probably lives in a house or a really nice, central apartment. Pope whistles through is teeth as he walks around it, inspecting the state the car is in. “Why did you let me bring the petrol?”

Will shrugs. “I’m not a mechanic, I don’t know your ways. Could’ve been a quirk of yours, Mr Garcia, or for your own car or something.”

Pope gives him a deadpan stare over the roof of the electric car and gets an unassuming smile, that might as well have been a shit-eating grin. Teasing. Playful.  
Unexpected.

“I would have assumed it needed an oil change or maybe I ran out of fuel, but since it’s electric…”, Will shrugs, hands in the pockets of his slacks as he watches Pope inspect the car. “I’m quite good with most technical stuff, but I never got the hang of it when it came to cars. That’s why I bought an electric one, they’re supposed to have fewer maintenance issues.”

“True”, Pope murmurs, ducking to inspect the tires. “But that also means that when something’s wrong, it’s usually not that easy to fix.”

Will only hums in response. Pope can almost feel the gaze on his back but he doesn’t turn around, somehow he doesn’t feel prepared to meet those grey-blue eyes right now.

“You fill these up recently?”, he asks after feeling the tires.  
“Yeah, two days ago”, comes the prompt answer. “Something wrong with them?”  
After testing a few more things, it appears they're lucky and the car’s battery simply ran out. The system responsible for warning the driver about the low battery seems to be damaged.

“I’ve driven this car for two years now”, Will frowns when Pope explains the situation to him. “I know how many miles it can usually go, it should’ve lasted for another ten at least.”  
“The tires”, Pope explains and taps the nearest one with the tip of his boot. “If they’re not kept at the right pressure it costs the car more energy than necessary. Did you drive here from far away?”  
“Yeah, actually”, Will says slowly. “Came home from a business-trip down south. I don't usually drive longer than a day for business but, well, the pay was good.”  
Pope nods. “The distance matters, and when it’s warm and the pressure is right, it’ll be too low when you get to colder regions.”  
“Well, fuck.” Will scowls at the car as if it deceived him on purpose.

“C’mon, let’s get it to the shop. We can recharge the battery there and I can try and fix the warning symbol, yeah?”, Pope suggests and nudges Will’s shoulder lightly.  
Will meets his eyes and holds the contact for a moment too long, making Pope realise how much taller the other man is. Then Will pushes off the hood of Pope’s car, he’s been leaning against, still holding Pope’s eyes. “Whatever you say.”  
Pope doesn’t trust his voice, so he just nods. They have to adjust his car’s positioning so they can connect the tow straps between the two vehicles. He uses the drive back to the shop to calm down and mull over Will Miller, since Will has to sit in his car to operate the brakes and avoid it rolling into Pope’s.

He’s a strange one, Pope decides. Very attractive but strangely detached, as though he doesn’t really register his own appearance. Will seems…kind of muted, actually. Everything he says and does feels weirdly understated, like it goes through various filters before ever reaching the outside of Will’s skull. At the same time, he doesn’t seem shy, Pope muses and thinks of the way Will meets him head-on and watches him openly. He’s not outright flaunting it, but there is definitely interest shimmering in the depths of his eyes, when he looks at Pope. Not that Pope minds.

When they pull into the parking lot in front of the shop, Redfly comes out and helps them get the car inside. They start charging the engine and while they wait, Redfly provides Will with their office’ godawful coffee and Pope starts looking for the problem in the control panel.

“Pope”, Redfly says after handing Will the steaming cup. Pope looks up. “I promised to take Tess out for dinner tonight, remember?”

Redfly’s daughter passed her driving test last week, Pope remembers, so Redfly had promised her a reward. He nods.  
“Yeah, sure, go.” It's closing time anyway. He catches the glance Redfly throws Will but doesn’t comment, just lifts his eyebrows when he receives a meaningful look. “Get lost already.”

“See you tomorrow”, Redfly says on his way out, jacket slung over his arm and oil stains all over his jeans.  
“Take a shower or they won’t let you in!”, Pope calls after him in retaliation for the insinuation in his eyes looking at Will just now.  
“Yeah, yeah”, Redfly grumbles. Then there’s the sound of an engine starting and just like that they're alone.

When Pope turns back to look at Will, he catches him sinking his nose into the steaming cup and then grimacing, his nose wrinkling for a second. Pope barely manages to hold in a snort of amusement – the coffee is shit, he knows.  
Before Will can catch him staring, he turns back to fiddle with the car. The only noise in the room is their breathing and the soft humming sound of the car charging up.

“Thank you”, Will says quietly after a few moments of silence. When Pope throws him a questioning glance over his shoulder, Will clarifies: “For your help. You’re probably itching to go home, too.”

Pope shrugs and keeps his back turned to Will, so he can look at his hands while working. His fingers are still stained black. “It’s okay, really. Bailey will survive having to wait a few minutes more for her dinner.”

Movement in the corner of his eye. He looks in the sideview mirror and notices its convenient angle, showing half of Will standing behind him. At Pope’s words, Will visibly pauses and the stare is back, sending a microscopic tremor down Pope's back.

“My dog”, Pope clarifies, keeping his eyes on the visible half of Will's reflection.

“Ah.” Will blinks and if Pope isn’t mistaken, his shoulders drop a little even as he lifts the cup back to his face and takes a sip. Pope chances another direct glance over his shoulder and catches Will’s eyes directly. He flashes him a smile before he turns back to his work.

“How’s it looking, Mr Garcia?”, Will asks after another minute of silence, and Pope can feel him moving behind his back. The steps are getting louder, closer.

“I think I fixed it”, Pope says as je screws the panel back into place. “The warning signal should come on without problem now.”

When he stands back up from his crouched position over the driver’s seat, Will is closer than expected. He’s set the coffee cup on the working bench he was leaning against before, and is now standing barely a step away from Pope, arms crossed in front of his chest. He's rolled up his shirtsleeves, showing off his forearms and trained biceps in this position. He also doesn’t back away to give Pope more space, when he turns around.

“If it’s not fixed, you’ll have to come back, though”, Pope goes on and tips his head back a fraction. Will is taller, all long limbs and lean muscle, but not by that much. He could tug him down by the collar of his shirt without much difficulty, if he really tried, Pope supposes.

Will meets his eyes head-on and doesn’t shy away, even when Pope steps close enough for his chest to brush Will’s crossed arms. But there is an almost imperceptible dusting of pink high on his cheeks now, and his lips are slightly parted. Still, he doesn’t drop his gaze.

“And the name’s Pope”, Pope says and his voice is a little rougher, a little deeper than usual.

“Okay. Pope”, Will repeats quietly, swaying forward a fraction. He smells smoky, like woods and fire, and Pope wants to mess up the hair in his nape.

That’s when the car makes a soft 'ping'-sound as it comes back online, and when Pope checks the noise the battery is loaded to the minimum.

“How long’s your drive home?”, Pope asks looking at the control that's showing the battery’s status.

“Not too far”, Will says and his voice is so close, Pope startles a bit. He’s definitely closer than he needs to be, the warmth of a solid chest brushing up close to Pope’s back and from this distance, Will can probably see the goosebumps rising in his neck. Warm breath tickles the tips of his hair and brushes the shell of his ear. “Only a few miles from here. Four or five, I’d wager.”

Pope hums and turns around slowly to give Will the chance to back away. Instead, Will waits for him to fully face him, eyes trained intensely on Pope’s. He visibly swallows and then some unnamed expression flickers over his face. Will takes a step back, putting some distance between them as he lowers his eyes.

“Will?”, Pope asks carefully, confused by the sudden change in mood. When Will looks up, however, he’s completely professional again with a carefully friendly-blank face.

“Thank you very much”, he says again and smiles politely. Pope can’t help the confused frown shadowing his face, but he doesn’t attempt to bridge the space Will put between them. The other is quite clearly backing away, no matter his earlier invasion of Pope's space - nevermind the hinted invitation from before then, huh?

“No problem”, Pope nods, dropping in the companionable tone and keeping his voice stricly neutral.

Just as Will pulls the door closed, after taking care of the business side of things, Pope puts his hand on the door. Will looks at him questioningly, a little wary even, and Pope tries for a small smile.

“Remember: if you’ve got any more problems, just come by”, he says and makes sure Will looks at him as he speaks. “You’re always welcome here.”

It might be a bit forward, but there it is again – that pretty dusting of pink high on Will’s cheeks, just above his stubbly beard. Pope feels a sense of childish accomplishment and can't be bothered to reign it in. Will is beautiful like this, even if the sudden retreat was unexpected.

“Yeah, okay”, Will nods when Pope keeps holding onto the door, clearly waiting for an answer. “I’ll…I’ll remember.”

“Good”, Pope confirms and releases the door, stepping back. “Have a good night, Will Miller.”

Will looks at him almost startled for a second, before he pulls the door close with a stiff nod. Pope watches the car leave and wonders if he’ll ever see its fascinating driver again. For a moment there really seemed to be something – no, actually, he’s sure there absolutely was _something_ between them. He could feel the tension and Will did too. He just blocked. And Pope would love to find out why.

Sighing he returns to the task of scrubbing the black off his hands, before closing up and returning home to an overjoyed Bailey.

***

It’s already dark when Will finally pulls into the parking lot, but one of the gates is still pulled up and light is flooding out from inside. Shit. A part of him had hoped they would already be closed.

'Coward'. The voice in the back of his mind is Benny's. He’s been pushing and prodding Will ever since he’d heard of the car debacle and the unfairly handsome mechanic who helped Will so gallantly.

It’s been almost a month, maybe he doesn’t even remember Will. Pope Garcia. Will wants to know if it’s a really unusual first name, or just a nickname. He guesses it’s the latter, it sounds like a nickname. What mother would name her child ‘Pope’? But he can’t be sure of course, unless he asks.

There’s nothing wrong with his car this time, which makes his being here even more awkward. Benny will just keep pestering him though, if he doesn’t do this. And if he stops lying to himself for a second, he's got to admit his thoughts returned to the mechanic more often these past weeks than probably appropriate. Will takes a moment to steel his nerves before he exits the car and slowly makes his way to the open gate. He stuffs his hands as deep into his pockets as they will go, because he has no idea what to do with them otherwise, and fights his fluttering heart.

There is no reason to be this nervous, he tells himself, stepping inside and looking around in search of thick dark curls and that blindingly pretty smile. This will lead to nothing, anyway, Will reminds himself. This will either be really awkward or great and turn awkward later on – in a way it might be better for it to be awkward right away, so Will can get rid of his little crush and avoid deeper heartbreak.

_I like fixing things_, echoes Pope’s voice through his head and Will flushes a little. He’s not a thing to be fixed, there’s nothing to fix. Some things just…are.

“Hey, I’m sorry but we’re closed”, someone says behind him and when Will turns he spots a man in the same shirt Pope was wearing last time, but he’s taller and his hair is straight and chestnut brown instead of playfully curling salt-and-pepper. He also sports a moustache instead of a 5-oclock-shadow Will would like to taste, and his shirt says ‘Moralez’. Right. Maybe Pope only works specific nights? Disappointment and relief both flood him at the thought.

“Oh, sorry”, Will replies and lifts his hands. “I didn’t know. I just saw the open gate and the light inside, I assumed...“

“Hey, have you seen the – oh.”  
Will doesn’t have to turn towards the office to recognise the voice, but he still does and there he is. With those wide, dark eyes and strong shoulders, legs in washed out jeans hugging his thighs just tight enough to dry out Will’s mouth.  
“You’re back.”

“You know him?”, the other mechanic asks, surprise clear in his voice.  
“Yeah, he’s had a battery problem a few weeks back”, Pope says immediately and something inside Will unclenches. “This is Will. Will – Fish.”

“Nice to meet you”, Will says and offers his hand to the mechanic – Fish – who rubs his palm over his shirt before taking Will’s hand.  
“Mhm, you too”, Fish nods and his hand is firm and strong in Will’s. His eyes rake over Will for a second as if in search for a reason for Pope to know (and remember) this stranger. Will squares his shoulders and barely refrains from awkwardly clearing his throat.

“So. What is it?”, Pope asks when Will turns back to him and glances around, obviously searching for Will’s car. “The battery again?”

“No”, Will admits awkwardly and doesn’t meet Pope’s eyes. There's a pause.  
“Can you finish up here, while I take a look?”, Pope speaks to his colleague when Will doesn’t elaborate, and Fish grunts in affirmation.  
Will leads Pope outside towards his car, through the dimly lit parking lot, and blurts out: “It’s nothing dramatic. Just need a check-up on the oil, I’m never sure if it’s right.”

Pope hums in response and Will can almost feel his eyes on his back. His heart has jumped into his throat again and he doesn’t turn around. They stop next to his car and Pope has Will pop the hood open to take a look.

“So you came back after all, huh?”, Pope says conversationally while bending over at the waist and fiddling with the car’s innards. Will deems it safe to watch him for the moment, since Pope seems focused on his work. He has nice arms - not bulging with muscle, but defined still, bronze skin dancing over firm tendons and muscles as every hand-movement is set with practiced precision. “You left quickly last time.”

Will’s ears burn at the memory. “Yeah, well”, he shrugs, unable to provide an actual explanation.

Last time he was…overwhelmed. There he was, this gorgeous, capable man with a brilliant smile and knowing eyes, responding so easily to Will, even inviting him to come closer, see more, maybe even touch…and Will ran.

It never ends well, Will has learned in his thirty-plus years of life. People are interested in his face, in his body, but after a while they realise he’s not what they’re looking for. Loving him is apparently not an easy feat and mostly people don't actually like a challenge. He's not sure what it is about him that makes it so hard - it's probably just _him_ as a person. Not that Will hasn’t tried. He really did try and make it as easy as possible, but still it just never works out. He’s come to the conclusion he’s just too hard to love, so he has to be careful to avoid it altogether and he'll be fine. It’s worked for more than two years now.

Only, this mechanic seems to be able to simply make Will hand his heart to him with nothing more than raspy, quiet laughs and easy conversation. Will is going to have to hold on tight, or his heart will slip right out of his grip and shatter to pieces at this man’s feet. Even after just having met him twice, he just somehow knows how dangerously close Pope could get to him. Close enough to break him.

“Okay”, Pope says and Will is hauled back from his thoughts when he straightens up abruptly and suddenly they are very close. “Why’re you really here, Will?”

Will can only stare at him, faces barely one lean-in away from each other and he's got that completely open expression again. There is no hint of uncertainty, of nervousness or shyness. Pope just stands there, hands loosely perched on his hips where his mechanic’s belt is dangling, navy shirt stretched over his chest, bare arms exposed to the cooling night-air, waiting. Waiting for Will to answer.

“Your oil is fine, by the way”, Pope explains when Will doesn’t reply, breath caught in his throat and heart galloping a hundred miles per hour, panicked to find an appropriate answer.

He’d been prepared for dancing around the subject, for teasing, maybe even flirting, or subtle rejection. But not this. This straight-forward honesty, barely two sentences into the conversation. Looking at Pope, though, of course this is how it would go, Will realises. He’s a grown man, he knows who he is and what he wants. There is no point in making it more complicated than it needs to be. Pope's confidence is the reason why he feels so out of sorts, Will understands suddenly, fine tremors running down his spine. He's got nothing to withstand the force that is Pope. This was a mistake - he's in even more danger to lose his head here, than Will initially thought.

“I, uh”, Will stammers and fidgets with the belt-loops on his jeans. He’s tried to dress casual this time, feeling stupid in his dress-pants and shirt next to Pope's practical get-up, last time. “Thank you.”

Pope nods. “So. You’re here.”  
Will tenses and waits for Pope to draw some kind of conclusion. If he’s honest he doesn’t even know himself what he was expecting to come from this – Benny urged him to go 'check out the hot mechanic guy again and flirt the hell out of him', but Will wasn’t really expecting to do any of that. He’d expected to maybe find out if that interest, that pull he’d felt a month ago, is still there and, if he was lucky, whether or not Pope might be inclined to humour Will a little.  
“I’ll have to walk Bailey but you could join”, Pope suggests and tips his jaw up, almost challengingly.

“…okay”, Will murmurs, overwhelmed again, and all he can do is stare at Pope in wonder. Pope, who doesn’t play games, who closes the hood of Will’s car and is suddenly very close, whose hand lingers on Will’s wrist for a second while he hold’s the eye-contact. He leaves Will’s wrist feeling cold when he lets go and walks by, and Will can do nothing but follow and try to not stare at his ass. Too much.

Fish throws them a few glances but otherwise doesn’t say a word as he packs up his things and leaves them. Will waits nervously for Pope to finish up, unsure what to say or do, so he crosses his arms on his chest and silently watches Pope rummage about the shop.

Pope hums under his breath completely un-self-conscious, his smooth voice filling the quiet of the shop softly. He handles all tools and equipment with the confidence only years of practise will get you, and it takes barely ten minutes before every last object has found its correct spot. The light inside the shop shimmers on his bronze skin beautifully, plays on it where muscles ripple beneath, and glints in his dark hair, illuminating the silvery strands. There's a strange sort of grace in the anchored, routine way Pope moves in this obviously very familiar space, without any sort of flair or finesse, just straight-forward efficiency. Will could watch him all day.

“You wanna share or follow in your car?”, Pope asks from inside the office and Will glimpses planes of naked skin as he pulls his uniform-shirt over his head.

“Following with my car is probably better”, Will replies and takes a second too long to avert his eyes. It’s a delicious back, though.  
If he drives his own car he can leave whenever he wants and won’t have to rely on Pope’s willingness to drive him back to the shop.

“Suit yourself”, Pope says and reappears in the doorway, having exchanged the navy shirt with a thin, grey sweater. He shuts off the light in the office and locks it behind him. Then he gestures for Will to follow him and pulls the garage gate closed as well.

“How far away do you live?”, Will asks after Pope has locked that too. He probably should’ve asked the question before agreeing to go with Pope, but well.

“Just a few streets”, Pope replies and when their arms brush while walking, Will is almost certain it’s not just coincidence. He makes sure to keep up with Pope’s pace and doesn’t back away. It's too late to turn back now, all he can do is hold on for the ride and hope for the best.

***

Bailey turns out to be an aging German shepherd mix with floppy ears but otherwise perfectly coloured fur and posture. She doesn’t bark when Pope unlocks his front door, just comes bouncing up to them excitedly, tail wagging in excitement as Pope greets her murmuring endearments under his breath. She allows Will to rub her ears and pants against his thigh eagerly, while Pope takes off his boots.

Will gets offered tea or coffee – he takes the coffee – and takes off his shoes as well. Walking Bailey will probably come after, he muses as he hangs up his jacket on the mostly empty hooks on the wall. He’s still unsure what to expect, but curiosity is overlaying his anxiety as he follows the kitchen-noises deeper into the flat.  
Pope lives on the second floor of an apartment complex with a nice balcony but otherwise very small and minimalistic rooms. The hallway has doors to a bathroom, a kitchen and a living room, from which a cracked door leads to what Will assumes is Pope’s bedroom. It's furnished but otherwise feels quite sparse, as though Pope doesn't really know what to fill the space with. Everything is efficient and practical, nothing around to just be pretty or cheerful. He has a TV that seems rarely used and a record player that seems very regularly used. Most of the music Pope appears to listen to is heavy metal, Will notes.

“Here”, Pope says entering the living room and handing Will a cup of coffee – real coffee, not that horrible brew he got offered at the shop last month. Neither of them sits down on the single couch, instead they stand by the window and look outside. It has started raining lightly.

“Do you live alone, Will?”, Pope asks apropos nothing and sips from his own steaming cup.  
“Yes”, Will answers truthfully and keeps his eyes trained on the window. “Though my brother moves in about every week for a few days. Says his apartment is a shithole but unwilling to invest in a better one.”  
Pope huffs out a laugh and Will instinctively turns to look at him. His smile is halfway hidden behind his cup, making Will want to take it away from Pope, so Will can see that smile properly. “Sounds like a good brother.”  
Will shrugs. “He’s the best, yeah.”

“So, nobody else? Parents, wife, children, pets?”, Pope inquires, his stare unwavering even as Will turns back to the window at the direct questions.  
“No”, Will says. “Nothing like that. Maybe I should get a dog, though.”  
Both of them glance at Bailey, who settled down on the sofa behind them and perches her ears up when she notices their attention.

“Yeah, they’re good company”, Pope nods and his voice is softer now. Then, he takes the cup from Will’s hands and sets both their cups down on the coffee table. Will can feel the tips of his fingers prickling with emptiness but is otherwise rooted to the spot when Pope turns back and comes close enough for his breath to brush over Will's face. Warm. Pope must’ve made himself mint-tea, Will thinks dazedly, tasting the warm mint on his lips with a quick sweep of his tongue.

“Will”, Pope says and fingers circle his wrist again, only this time it's not fleeting. This time they stay. Pope’s other hand trails over the collar of Will’s shirt and finally holds his chin between forefinger and thumb, catching on Will’s lower lip for a moment. Will releases a shuddering breath and lets his chin be guided forward.  
Pope leans in, closer, closer, until their noses are aligned and his face is all Will can see. He doesn’t kiss Will, though, just lets their breath mingle for a moment. And then there's the sudden, wet-hot touch of a tongue licking playfully along the seam of Will’s parted lips. Will’s breath hitches in his chest.  
Pope pulls back a tiny bit and leans their foreheads against each other, looking at Will intently. “Tell me now, if you don’t want this.”

Will’s brain has been completely emptied, he’s not sure if he even knows words right now, let alone string a coherent sentence together. All he can do is grip the hand holding onto his wrist, and press back against Pope’s forehead.

“Pope”, Will breathes out, heart in his throat and heat coating his skin everywhere as he holds the warm, dark gaze.

This should be awkward, he thinks distantly when they move to Pope’s bedroom, not breaking apart even as hands sneak underneath clothing hungry for bare skin. They don’t know each other very well, but somehow it feels like there is no distance between them anymore, on any level. There is only this magnetic pull left to follow, this inexplicable tug towards each other demanding to be closer, always closer, without any more barriers between them.  
It feels as though all that’s left to find out is the intimate slide of skin against skin, the sound of laboured breath and muffled moans, shivering and touching in the most sensitive places. And Will doesn’t want to think for once. He doesn’t want to think of all the possible scenarios how this could turn sour, all the ways this is wrong, all the reasons for stopping. He just wants to feel Pope breathe right into his skin for now. Even if this just a one-time-thing, Will wants to live in every moment so he can remember it later, relive it, heartbeat per heartbeat.  
His hands are buried in Pope’s thick hair and there are tremors running up and down his spine as Pope sets his teeth into the chords of Will’s neck and sucks on the soft, sensitive skin afterwards.

Pope operates a lot like he kisses. For some reason Will expected him to be pushy, but instead he takes his time, draws out kisses, touches, and groans until Will is shaking with it. He can't seem to catch his breath at all, stomach quivering from the moment Pope puts his hands on him. It’s unhurried and warm and so, so certain when Pope rids Will of his clothes and touches him for real. Will’s throat is hoarse simply from panting by the time Pope is three fingers deep in him, and it takes multiple attempts to pull Pope out of the reverie of softly sucking marks into Will’s pale skin. He’s ready, dammit, Pope is being too thorough… Will grips Pope by his hair to get his attention, even as he's jerking with every probing push of fingertips against his slicked-up inner walls.

“S-shit”, he curses and pulls maybe a little too roughly on Pope’s hair. “It’s enough, Pope – I can’t – “  
Pope finally looks up and his eyes are glazed over, pupils blown wide as he takes Will in. “Yeah. Okay”, he replies finally and slowly pulls his fingers free, crooking them on their way out, making Will gasp and jerk once more. Crinkling noises of a condom-wrapper, then Pope is pushing his way in, and in, and _in_, and all the breath is punched out of Will again.

It doesn’t hurt, Pope’s been too thorough for that, but the feeling of fullness, the slick slide and drag and pull of it rob Will of all coherent thought. Pope lifts Will’s right leg to rest in the crook of his elbow and holds onto his thigh while leaning forward, carefully folding Will in until Pope can seal his lips over the juncture of Will’s neck and shoulder again.

With a flex of his hips, Pope pulls back right to the tight ring of muscle, holds and slides back in all the way with one long thrust. There is no hesitation, no insecurity, just these confident deep, long thrusts, hitting him just right. Will groans, eyes shut tightly as he rolls his head, and Pope sucks and kisses his way up his throat. When he slots their lips together, his tongue mimics the motion of his hips: pushing, dragging, stroking, devouring him, and Will sucks on that tongue eagerly.

Just when it gets too much, when Will worries this’ll be over too soon, Pope’s thrusts start missing that deliciously perfect spot. Instead of every stroke, it comes only every other stroke, now, until Will gets dizzy with the erratic pattern. Pope is doing it on purpose, Will realises somewhere in the back of his mind, to make this last longer. Consciously, Will can only hold on, though, gasping and groaning into Pope’s mouth on the accurate strikes and squirming when he misses, trying to guide the thrusts. Coax the deep slide to that spot that will make stars dance on the back of Will’s eyelids. Everything is slickness and heat, the burn of his thighs where they’re spread wide around flexing hips, the lean body pressing its weight down and into him, and their intertwined hands clenching and relaxing against each other. He’s never felt this open before.

“I like the sound of your voice”, Pope murmurs into Will’s jaw and if Will had the wherewithal, he’d be blushing. Instead he’s sucking in breaths greedily and tries to control the quivering of his thighs.

Pope’s taut belly skims Will’s hot, hard length where it’s rubbing against his own lower abs, and that’s when Will breaks. He buries his hand in Pope’s hair and words are tumbling from his lips, incoherent and breathy for the most part, a mix of pleas and curses. And Pope laughs softly against his collarbones. Sucks on the juncture between them, marks him as he fucks him. The hand that isn’t holding Will’s trails down between them and grips him, making Will keen hoarsely and arch up against him.

“Beautiful”, Pope whispers as he watches Will shiver and spurt between their bellies and over his hand. All the while, he’s still driving into Will, pressing in against the tight-hot clench, until shudders wrack his body and he freezes, buried deep inside Will. His hips twitch hard, once, twice, and he gasps loudly into the semi-darkness of his bedroom.

When Will catches his breath finally, Pope has cleaned them up with a damp washcloth and is climbing back into the bed. Before Will can start overthinking and get self-conscious once more, Pope is rubbing their legs together and slides one arm to rest over Will’s chest. “Don’t sneak out on me.”

Will swallows thickly, unable to answer. That was kind of what he was planning to do.  
“You can leave if you want, of course”, Pope mumbles against Will’s shoulder. “I just mean…you said you’d come with me to walk Bailey, yeah? ‘s gonna stop raining in an hour or so. You can leave after. Okay?”

Something constricts in Will’s chest and he realises with dread that it is hope. Of all things. His stomach is fluttering in excitement and the rest of his body feels hot and electrified everywhere Pope touches him. Pope does not hold him down or intertwine their legs, Will could just slip out of bed if he wanted. But Will’s palm itches with the echo of the tight hold of Pope’s hand not half an hour ago – warm and solid and sure, Pope's fingers woven through his.

“Okay”, Will agrees quietly. He can stay for another hour, he supposes. The damage is already done. Walking Pope’s dog with him won’t make a big difference at this point. And maybe…maybe Pope will even want to keep Will around for more.

Pope rubs his prickly chin over Will’s shoulder in response, right where he sucked a mark into the skin, and Will blushes in the dark.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I know I have the Highschool-AU to finish and it's coming up, but I've been busy moving countries and today when I wanted to write this is the result...Hope you like it anyway! Kudos and comments are very much appriated as always :3


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